


The Fall of the Fortunate

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: +OCs for convenience lol, Fix-It, Gen, Liberal amounts of violence, Multiple Lives, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Time Travel, Torture, all the usual suspects - Freeform, the whole shebang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22002394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Draco Malfoy isn’t sure if he really remember what its like to be himself. He’s lived the same life so many times that his sense of self has become buried. After being killed and being reformed again for what feels like the billionth time he’s determined to beat the system. He’s determined to win.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Another New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for deciding to read! As soon as I have some more of this story written I will try to upload an updating schedule. If you like the concept please let me know and if you have any suggestions for any of Draco’s past lives I’d love to hear them!

He was drifting again. His chest ached for a moment where he had been struck by the spell that killed him but it wasn’t long before his body went numb. A feeling of contentment swept through him as the gentle embrace of death clung on. He breathed deeply (not that he needed to) and began to parse through his thoughts as he tried to pinpoint where he had gone wrong.

Annoyingly, the memories of the lives he had lived began to blur, as they were so wont to do after life-116. He tried to concentrate harder on the echos of the events that were slipping through his grasp. There. A slip of the foot. A bungled spell. What a beginner mistake.

He could picture Weasley’s face as he laughed at his stupidity. In all the lives he had lived, Draco had never once found a timeline where Weaselbee would refrain from insulting him at least once a week.

Draco’s stomach lurched as he felt the beginnings of a new life weave into existence around him. Knowing from experience that the process could take hours at the least, he drifted into unconsciousness, as he prepared himself for what he might face.


	2. The World is a Cruel Mistress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning for character death and very mild torture :)

Draco folded his legs up towards his chest as he burrowed carefully under the luxurious duvet in a feeble attempt to let none of the precious heat escape the confines of his fluffy cocoon. The air currents of the room blew softly against the side of his face and lifted up a part of his fringe and placed it down again upon his pillow, all with the utmost care. Sighing to itself in contentment at a job well done it seemingly floated over to the boy’s dresser where it seemed to dither next to a lonely photograph of the Malfoy family placed precisely on the smooth lace that had been set down in a vague attempt at lifting the atmosphere of the room.

This was not supposed to be a child’s room but a child’s room it was. The delicate lace coverings contrasted sharply with rough scuff marks on the various pieces of furniture. In the delicate vases of flowers there were hidden treasures secreted away, such as a particularly interesting newspaper clipping hidden within the plant stems and, unbelievably, a muggle pencil (that had been chewed on relentlessly) stowed away in the bottom of another vase, hidden from the prying eyes of the parents.

A sound from the bed had the gust rushing over to inspect the boy under the covers, where it seemed to sag in some semblance of relief at seeing the little Malfoy had abandoned his mission in protecting the warmth of the covers and instead spread himself out to bask in their softness. Everything was still for a moment before the presence floated up and over the bed, where it seemed to hover for a moment indecisively, then settled over the sleeping child.

Unbeknownst to the occupants of the house, there was a brilliant flash of light from the windows of the room, its only witness the lone, solitary peacock standing sentinel on the desolate, sloping lawn.

—————

The morning dawned bright and early for the Malfoy family. With supernaturally accurate timing, the house elves threw open the heavy drapes to let in the streaming February sun. It was late enough in the winter now that they last of the snows had finally melted away to leave cool, dewy mornings with the sharp scent of freshly cut grass.

Draco awoke slowly, trying to savour the luxury of the warm bed. His muscles burned where he stretched his arms up and over his head and spread his legs out lethargically. He opened his eyes to see a warm patch of sun beaming down onto the pillow next to his head and shied away from it despite knowing it was unbecoming for someone like him to laze about all day. No matter how long he had been wandering through time there was very little that could so humble him anymore. His pride was one of those things that made him who he was therefore he would never let it go.

Despite his fatigue, he couldn’t help the buzz of excitement that ran through his veins. The rush of a new life being granted to him never ceased to make his spine tingle and his heart beat a little faster.

Draco padded over to the full-length mirror as his slippers skittered across the floor to meet him half way. Chubby cheeks. A skinny frame. No more muscle than needed for a child who only occasionally was permitted to take part in such boisterous games as Quidditch. Yes, staring back at him was the face of his 10 year old self. A glance at the calendar revealed the exact date and he stared wonderingly for a moment at the childish scribbles of a boy who was already counting down the days till his 11th birthday despite it being more than 4 months away. Draco felt a wave of irritation at his former self but supposed that it was understandable that any child would be excited for the year when they would finally be able to go to Hogwarts.

Now, however, the thought of Hogwarts only filled him with dread.

Most of the lives he had lived had started anywhere from halfway through first year through to the end of sixth year and any outliers to this rule never lasted all that long. By the time he had been sent back it was always incredibly difficult for him to break the mould that he had made for himself and any attempts to help the so-called light side often ended with him used as a spy and discarded once his uses had been depleted. Any attempt to go to Dumbledore for help with his dilemma mostly yielded very little results, as the illustrious headmaster’s care for his students usually only stretched to cover his precious Gryffindors.

Shaking his head in obvious distaste, he absentmindedly ambled over to the bathroom next door where a bath had been drawn for him by the elf. He sunk down beneath the hot water and exhaled through his nose, content.

In his mind he was already mapping out his next move. The things he could alter, the things he couldn’t. People’s weaknesses, their strengths. What events could and should happen, when they should happen. Even that something so small as a random act of kindness could have catastrophic consequences was a lesson he’d learnt the hard way. It was in the same way he’d learnt that Draco’s cruelty to Potter and his posse enabled a much needed viciousness within the Saviour. A life without the Malfoy heir’s mocking often inspired a sense of complacency within the other boy that could sometimes have detrimental effects for those around him.

Alternatively, Draco knew that it was possible for him to go to Dumbledore. Instead of giving him everything that he knew, he might be able to...

No, he dismissed the notion quickly. If anything his attempts at life had taught him, it was that there was nothing that Dumbledore wouldn’t do to get the information he thought that he was entitled to. The old headmaster would only see Draco as collateral, Draco thought with disgust. Really, in some ways, the old man was no better than Voldemort himself.

Draco longed to get his Godfather’s help, but knew it would be in vain. Severus’ vow to protect Harry Potter had often led him to his death... it was best not to dwell on that.

He dried off quickly and slipped back into his room where his outfit for the day had already been chosen for him. Frowning, he picked up the stiff material. Over the years he’d come to realise just how comfortable muggle clothing could be and had resorted to buying whatever he could get away with. After donning the stiff robes, he fixed his hair and quickly made his way to the dining room and was only mildly surprised to see only his mother was there. His father frequently went away without saying goodbye, and neither him nor Narcissa commented on his glaring absence.

His mother shot a pleasant smile his way, “Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning,” he returned cordially, trying to clamp down on the emotion that seeing his mother had brought forth.

Judging by the slight frown in her face, he hadn’t quite been able to convince her that all was well. She had always been very shrewd, if quite cautious. She rarely acted without good reason and never dared to disagree with Lucius. In the past, this had caused great strife between them. But she always supported him when he was in danger, and he could never stop loving her for it.

He quickly tucked in to the meal served out before him. It was always a shock to him to remember suddenly how much the Malfoy elves loved to outdo themselves on every little task. In another world he would have scoffed and ridiculed their simple way of life but after everything he’d seen he could certainly see the appeal of a quiet life, away from too much responsibility.

Hurriedly, he finished his meal and excused himself, nervous with the knowledge that things had begun to change slightly already. Narcissa’s suspicion could potentially be a cause for concern he knew, as her mind could change like the weather. Not the weather in England at least changed much from its bleak, dreary disposition, he thought derisively, but the sentiment was still the same.

Draco decided to spend the day lazily (thankfully it was a Saturday, he had no idea if he could keep the dumb child act up around his tutors). He knew there were not many important events coming up that warranted a rush on his proceedings so used his time organising his thoughts and coming up with the most likely timeline of events would be. Draco had come to realise that there were some things that could not be changed no matter what he did, like the fact that the DADA curse always manifested in some way despite his interventions. Luckily, the professors brought in were usually the same, though sometimes Lupin would have been chased off before the year even began or Snape would decide that he would continue with Potions during Draco’s sixth year.

By the end of the day, Draco had a 7 foot long scroll of parchment filled to the brim with ideas that he stashed under a loose floorboard beneath his bed. The logical part of him knew the first problem was Quirrell. Merlin knows he didn’t want a repeat of life 2———

——— _he’d been so fucking confused waking up as an eleven year old again in the middle of the Slytherin dormitory that he’d not thought rashly, racing down to the corridor, so incensed he could barely breathe. He almost brought down the door with his frantic banging on Quirrell’s door and immediately pushed the confused man back into the room, instantaneously holding his wand to the mans neck and ripping off the ridiculous turban. Draco had attempted to curse him into oblivion but realised too late that he still had the weak magical core of a child and was thrown back violently._

_Quirrell rose to his feet, cursing up a storm and glared at Draco with murder in his eyes. Salazar, he had no idea how he’d missed this the first time around._

_“I don’t know how you know, boy,” he snarled viciously, “but I obviously can’t let you keep running round with this information. Shame, you could have been a loyal servant, just like your father... I wonder what else you know... Legillimens!”_

_“—Malfoy”_

_“Can — hear me?!”_

_“Don’t — please!”_

_The memories rushed by as The Dark Lord ripped apart his defences. Draco lay sprawled on the floor trying to catch his breath but evidently that wasn’t enough for Voldemort._

_“Crucio!”_

_Fire._

_“Obviously I can’t let you live, boy!”_

_Oh Merlin please not again I’m begging you i cant do this why did you pick me of all the people in the fucking world why me stop stop please STOP —_

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

——— He came to on the floor of his room, shaking, but long since used to the memories. He got up, smoothed down his hair, patted his robes straight, plastered on a pleasant expression and moved on.

He had learned to pick himself up. There was no one else to.

There would never be anyone else.

Such was the way of the world.


End file.
